


Lie To Me

by Gimmemore



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Break Up, Broken Hearts, End of 5 Year Mission, Gay, Gay Sex, Heavy Angst, Hurt!Jim, Hurt!Spock, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Sad Ending, So much angst, running away from feelings, so much hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 19:22:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8339704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gimmemore/pseuds/Gimmemore
Summary: Shrouded in darkness, Jim whispered one final appeal.  “Stay with me.”The smallest tremor ran through Spock.  “Jim.”  His name was an entreaty.Pressing two fingers to Spock’s lips, Jim silenced the next words before they could tumble forth, tearing apart the gossamer veil delicately surrounding them.  “Just…tell me you will even if…even if it’s a lie.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story was wholly inspired by David Cook's song "Lie". The lyrics come across so clearly as Jim's POV. It would not leave me alone and so it became this.
> 
> Unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own.

The Enterprise was docked.  The five-year mission was over, as was everything else he’d come to hold dear.  They were scattering, like the dry, brittle leaves of fall; wind-blown and strewn across autumn’s landscape before the bitter, biting chill of winter seized them, freezing them within its icy heart.  And for the first time in a long time, there was no sense of purpose, no direction, no respite, nowhere that felt like home.  He was adrift, lost in the struggle to understand all the moments that had led to this.

He’d been standing, hollowed out by what laid before him, staring at the nothingness for who knows how long before he heard the tell-tale swish of the door opening and closing behind him.  He didn’t acknowledge the other man’s presence immediately, nor did the other man break the silence.  Weighted moments passed before he lowered his eyes, steeling himself against the pain blossoming in his chest and with a resigned sigh, softly spoke into the vast silence.

“He’s gone?”  It was an absurd question, really.  They both recognized that.  He knew the answer even if he didn’t – couldn’t – say it out loud.  But if this man, his friend whom he trusted and respected, spoke the words, gave them volume and form, then he could no longer, with any claim to sanity, deny them.

“Yeah, he’s gone.  Left on the 4 a.m. shuttle to Vulcan.  And Jim?”  Bones paused before tolling the final bell.  “He resigned his commission.  It was approved by Admiral Komack day before yesterday.”

Eyes closed and jaw twitching, Jim’s fists clenched at his sides.  Foolishly, he had left a sliver of possibility dangling within him, clasped deeply within his chest.  After all, how many times had he and Spock been an unbeatable team, solving seemingly world-ending catastrophes against insurmountable odds?  But this?  This had seized the last glimmering spark of hope, enveloped it in the invading darkness and snuffed it out.

How had it all come to this?

~~~~~

_Nine hours earlier……_

Jim rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands, digging in mercilessly.  The discomfort helped sharpen his mind.  He sat at his desk reflecting on the last five years, concentrating particularly on the final sixteen months in the Enterprise’s mission – the months he and Spock had become more than Captain and Commander, more than friends – hoping to find answers that had eluded him thus far.

He’d finished his double shift on the bridge, the next to last before they docked and now all he was left with an unshakeable sense of foreboding.  Never one to give up easily, he’d spent the last forty-eight hours attempting to devise a plan that would stop what was coming.  But he had found none.

Jim had felt the unsettling, growing disquiet emanating in subtle waves from Spock for months.  But ever the stubborn Vulcan that Spock was, Jim could not get him to tell him what was wrong.

Initially, he had been understanding, respecting Spock’s privacy and figuring that whatever it was, Spock would work through it.  But as it persisted and became more pervasive, Jim couldn’t – and wouldn’t – let it ruin what he and Spock had, all that he believed they could have.

So he had pushed, prodded and yes, even pleaded with Spock to let him in; let him know what was wrong.  He asked all the questions humans had been asking each other for millennia when it came to these moments of desperation.  _Did I do something wrong, say something wrong?  What can I do to make it better?  Why won’t you talk to me?_   And then all the statements that followed when the questions remained unanswered.  _Tell me what’s wrong.  Don’t shut me out.  Let me help._

But as Jim pushed, Spock withdrew further.  Jim could see pain hiding in the depths of those dark brown eyes, a burden Spock would not or could not share.  So Jim retreated and although things were not better, they were not worse.  But Jim knew.  He could feel what they’d built fracturing; a glass house pressed upon by an unknown weight, exposing the tiniest flaws in spectacular starbursts and intricate webbing.  The tension continued to grow until even the intimacy they had shared was strained, until it became almost nonexistent.

There were other changes too.  Jim had always accepted that Spock was a child of two very different worlds and although Spock identified as Vulcan, he was half-human; a human half he denied and repressed more often than not, even though Jim saw its appearance in subtleties most others missed.

In the last month, Spock had actively become _more_ Vulcan; less tactile even in private, more emotionally closed off and withdrawn, meditating more frequently and in longer durations.  Intertwined with this newly reinforced, stringent control, Jim could sense resignation radiating from Spock. 

Jim couldn’t pinpoint when he had begun to notice; when the accumulation of all the minute shifts became a significant, recognizable design.  And with each passing day, Jim’s restlessness grew until it permeated every fiber of his being.  Jim felt cornered, trapped, helpless.  It only increased as each of his crew – his friends, his family – notified him of their future plans, all of which, without any malicious intent on their part, left him feeling deserted.

Bones was retiring, request already approved, and the rest of the crew were either taking extended leave or working three to six month jobs in the meantime.  All except Scotty, whose help with the retrofit of the Enterprise was going to be the engineer’s life for the foreseeable future.

He and Spock were the only variables on the command crew that had remained.  But Spock evaded every question on what he wanted for his future and by proxy, for theirs, giving technicalities and half-truths as answers.  He didn’t know what ground he was currently standing on, but it definitely felt unstable.  Because of this (and much to the admiralty’s chagrin), Jim had held off on giving them an answer on their offer and making a potentially life altering decision without knowing all the facts.

The sounding of the door chime startled him out of his thoughts.  He closed his eyes briefly, breathing deeply and wrapped himself in the comfort of his command presence.  The illusion of control and calm was better than none at all and although he was intelligent enough to know it would not be enough to spare him the inevitable pain, it would delay the onslaught long enough to get through what he must. 

He still clung to the smallest hope that he was wrong; that for once, his intuition would betray him.  If it didn’t, if he was correct, then Captain James T Kirk was about to be laid low, shattered and defeated.

 “Come.”

Spock stepped into his quarters, just inside the door, stiff and unyielding.  As the door closed, the air suddenly felt thin, as if all the available recycled air had been sucked out of the room.  Spock did not meet his eyes.

“Captain.”

Formality.  It was not unexpected.  But Jim was not about to call the man before him ‘Commander,’ reducing this moment and what he felt for Spock to mere observances of regulations and rank.

“Spock,” Jim gently replied.

The hesitation in Spock was brief but Jim saw it, had been studying his Vulcan long enough to read all the tiny, minute non-verbal cues that others failed to notice.  Further betraying his nervousness by taking a noticeable deep breath, Spock squared his shoulders and began.

“I am officially notifying you of my intent to terminate our romantic engagement, beginning immediately.  Per Starfleet regulations, as First Officer aboard the Enterprise, I must also inform you – “

Jim stood up quickly, shaking his head.  “Stop, Spock.  Just…stop.”  He leaned forward on his desk, palms pressed tight to the surface.  “Is this really how it’s going to be?  Spouting formalities and regulations?  After everything we’ve…”

“Captain, it is regretful – “

It was all suddenly too much and Jim’s aggravation ignited. “Dammit, just –.  Can’t you give me the common decency of saying my name, of looking me in the eye?  Gods Spock, you’ve shared my life, my mind, my bed.”  As he said the last words, Spock flinched, small, but as significant as if Jim had struck him.

Jim ached, his insides were ripping apart and shredding, the blood beginning to flow freely, but he didn’t want to inflict further agony.  Hurting Spock was never something he wanted to do.  They were both hurting enough.  He exhaled slowly, reining in the anger and pain that threatened to swallow him whole.  “This isn’t what I wanted for us.”

Finally, Spock met his eyes.  The warm, chocolate-brown eyes were drowning, pleading with Jim to let this be quick, to stem the tide.  But Jim couldn’t surrender without trying.  The Vulcan before him was worth that and more.

“Jim, _please_.  It must be this way.”  Spock hesitated.  “I cannot explain...”

Jim huffed, shaking his head.  “You are the most articulate being I know, rarely at a loss for words.  Explaining should be simple.”

At that, a singular eyebrow rose.  “I assure you.  This is anything but _simple_.”

“Then enlighten me, please.  Help me understand,” Jim gently implored.

He straightened, moved from behind his desk and began advancing slowly towards Spock, who was still so close to the door, it was surprising he wasn’t tripping the sensors to keep it open.  As if approaching a deer ready to bolt, Jim moved purposefully, telegraphing his movements until he was close enough to need to tilt his head back ever so slightly to look into Spock’s eyes.

A gamut of flickering emotions passed across Spock’s face.  Resigned, Spock spoke quietly, his voice ragged.  Jim felt a great tidal wave crush him, stealing his breath as each tattered word left Spock’s lips.

“I _feel_ , Jim.  Ashamed, compromised, lost.  These…feelings…are not simple.  The intensity is…painful.”  Spock lifted his right hand and lightly traced Jim’s face, ghosting over the meld points.  “You are _las’hark_ , the sun.  You are bright and blinding in your power, pulling me ever forward by your immense gravity, while scorching every cell of my body, setting me ablaze.  I am consumed and cannot endure.”

Spock dropped his hand and Jim smiled sadly, knowingly, staring into eyes so human.  Slowly, gently, Jim lifted his hands, tracing Spock’s prominent cheekbones with his thumbs moving up and over the tip of Spock’s ears, drifting down to finally settle on either side of his neck.

Spock made no movement, not even the tiniest twitch of muscles under Jim’s light touches, but he had held his breath, pain emanating from his eyes.  Jim loved all that Spock was – the dichotomy, the best of both worlds – the logical, competent, stoic Vulcan and the tender, gentle, loving human.

But Spock was currently torn asunder, unable to reconcile the two halves into a complete symbiotic whole, overwhelmed and lost.  It was a war Spock was determined to solve alone.  And Jim had learned that a determined Vulcan was near impossible to sway.  Letting Spock go now would be the best course of action before they made wounds too deep to properly heal.

But now that Spock was so close, close enough that their auras shared the same space, their breath and body heat intermingling, the telltale thump-thump-thump of their hearts rhythmically pounding, Jim couldn’t make himself step back.  And so he said the words, willing to sacrifice anything in this moment, knowing that it would wound deeper, worsen the scars.  It was the last ditch effort of a man whose dawn appointment with the gallows was quickly approaching.

“Show me what you feel,” Jim murmured.

Momentarily stunned, Spock blinked in disbelief.  Recognition of what Jim was asking caused Spock’s eyes to flutter close.  “Jim, this is not –“

“Wise,” Jim swiftly interrupted.  “I know, Spock.  But just once, let there be no barriers between us.  If – If this is the end, then let us make an end worthy of remembrance.”

Spock opened his eyes and Jim’s hazel eyes beseeched him, asking for everything Spock could give, promising to give all of himself in return.

In unspoken acknowledgement of their decision, they shifted forward, pressing their foreheads together.  Jim inched slowly into Spock’s body, pressing hips to hips and chest to chest, tilting his head ever so slightly to lightly press against Spock’s lips; lips that he had ravaged and that had equally ravaged him.  But this kiss was chaste, reverent and poignant.

Their hands began tenderly travelling along shoulders, arms, backs and torsos as if each were afraid of destroying the other.  However, it wasn’t long before the despair they’d barely kept at bay seeped in and they found themselves frantically clinging to each other, as if letting go would leave them forever falling in the fathomless abyss that awaited.  Clothes were quickly discarded.  Each worshipped the other’s body, this time laying bare not only their physical selves, but their very souls.

They reveled in each other; in marking and being marked, in being stretched and filled, in taking and being taken.  There were no words, only whispers of ecstasy and pain comingled into a single breath.  It was infinitely, hauntingly beautiful even in its devastation.

Only when their bodies were exhausted, their souls left raw and frayed, their minds no longer able to process all the emotional and physical feedback, did they lay on their sides facing each other, foreheads once again pressed tight.

Shrouded in darkness, Jim whispered one final appeal.  “Stay with me.”

The smallest tremor ran through Spock.  “ _Jim_.”  His name was an entreaty.

Pressing two fingers to Spock’s lips, Jim silenced the next words before they could tumble forth, tearing apart the gossamer veil delicately surrounding them.  “Just…tell me you will even if…even if it’s a lie.”

There had been enough truths between them tonight.  The cold, hard certainty of reality could wait. 

“As you wish, Jim.”  Spock once again traced his face with nimble fingers, lightly settling on his meld points.  “I will stay.”

Before falling into the darkness of slumber, the last thing Jim remembered was that deep, soft baritone faintly whispering, “Sleep.”

~~~~~

By the time he woke several hours later, Spock was gone, but not unexpectedly.  He couldn’t recall the number of times he’d been reminded in the last five years that Vulcans slept less than humans.  This time though, Spock’s absence was felt more acutely; a clear reminder that they were no longer intimately involved.

Now it all came back to professional distance, back to Captain and Commander, back to just friends.  It would be difficult (at the moment Jim’s heart felt it near impossible), but he’d rather have Spock by his side in any capacity than not at all.

He was, however, certain of the singular truth that had been exposed in the profound intimacy they had shared under the cover of night:  Spock _loved_ Jim as much as Jim loved Spock.  Jim was optimistic they would prevail together.  Besides, he didn’t believe in no-win scenarios.

He’d quickly readied himself and instead of walking through the adjoining bathroom to Spock’s quarters, as had become his habit while they were together, Jim had walked out of his quarters to formally request entry into Spock’s.  When no answer came, his gut twisted.  Several minutes ticked by, fueling the rise of panic and the wild beating of his heart.  Using his override to gain entry, he’d not been prepared for what he found, or rather, all the things he didn’t find.  He wanted to deny it, but the truth of it could not be unseen.

It was where Bones had found him, staring vacantly at the emptiness.  He looked back on the last nine hours and realized Spock had tried to tell him, but he didn’t want to hear it, see it or believe it.  Not only had Spock ended their relationship, but he had severed all ties that bound him to Jim.  The shock of it reverberated endlessly, shattering him to his very core.

It was truly over.

While standing in the hollowed out quarters of his former First Officer, friend and lover, Jim made a decision.  He’d accept Starfleet’s promotion to Admiral.  It was an ill-fitting suit, too snug and limited in movement, but the tipping point in his decision boiled down to location.

Instead of trying to find him in a cosmos of infinite possibilities while commanding a starship, he would be narrowed to one place, easy to find when needed or wanted.

He only hoped someday soon, someone would realize they still needed and wanted him before it was too late for them both.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for all the sad feels. :( Sometimes a thing just has to be written.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. Comments are always appreciated.
> 
> A little shout out - Las'hark was all for you Ivan! :)
> 
> When Jim says, "If this is the end, then let us make an end worthy of remembrance" - This is a paraphrase of Theoden's line from Lord of The Rings: The Two Towers.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek, nor am I profiting from this in any way. I am merely playing with the characters for enjoyment's sake.


End file.
